


my girl victory

by CaptainAmelia22



Series: Tumblr Drabble [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: CarterCentury, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Wedding Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/CaptainAmelia22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He proposed a year after Steve fell.  </p><p>"I know I’m not the Captain you want, Miss Carter," he says, his voice shaking and his red beret twisting between his fingers as he rocks to-and-fro before her.  Her lips curl ever so slightly in response to his nervousness but she does not interrupt.  "I’m just a-just a regular old chap, but I rather think we’ve-we’ve developed quite the rapport."</p><p>She hides a giggle at that by taking a sip of her cooling tea.  Quite the rapport, indeed. </p><p>The man is the Union Jack after-all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my girl victory

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt someone left for me on tumblr for CarterCentury. 
> 
> It ended up a lot sadder than I meant it.
> 
> Oops.
> 
> -M

He proposed a year after Steve fell.  

"I know I’m not the Captain you want, Miss Carter," he says, his voice shaking and his red beret twisting between his fingers as he rocks to-and-fro before her.  Her lips curl ever so slightly in response to his nervousness but she does not interrupt.  "I’m just a-just a regular old chap, but I rather think we’ve-we’ve developed quite the rapport."

She hides a giggle at that by taking a sip of her cooling tea.   _Quite the rapport_ , indeed. 

The man is the Union Jack after-all.  

She’s seen him in his skivvies.

And he held her all night after they lost Steve.

She stills at that, cup raised to her lips and her knuckles go white on the stem of the china.  

Her expression does not change though, despite the memories washing over her, of that dark day when she finally returned to London, makeup smeared on her face and her hair a dreadful mess.  The Howling Commandos at her back as she screamed and blazed like a hellion through the SSR headquarters.

Only the man sitting before her, blushing as red as a tomato and his eyes wild over the Union Jack spread across his chest, stayed behind to comfort her.  Not even Howard had been able to manage her grief.  He’d gotten on his damn boat and gone off to find the Tesseract. 

And Steve.

But that didn’t change the fact that he and all the rest of Steve’s friends had left her.

Except for the man sitting before her.

_Quite the rapport, indeed._

Falsworth blushes at the sight of her winged brow arching over her delicate china teacup and blurts, “Will you marry me Peggy?”

She chokes on her tea and the cup rattles in a very unladylike manner on it’s saucer as she sets it aside on the stack of files and papers she’s supposed to be reading over before her meeting with the General and Howard.  

"What the hell?!" she sputtered and both barely notice her cup slipping from her fingers to shatter at her feet.  He falls to his knee before her, papers flying when his elbow strikes her desk (always rickety after that day Steve accidentally broke the leg while leaning against it.  She never bothered getting it fixed…) and he’s shaking as he pulls a ring from the padded jacket of his costume. 

"Marry me, Margaret Carter?  For the times we’ve had and the times we could have, once this bloody War is over?  He’d want you to be happy…"

The pearl, steely grey like the waters Steve fell into, shines dully under the uncertain light of the bunker they’ve quartered in and for a moment all she can do is stare.

And then she thinks of Steve.

Of his blue eyes, his gentle laugh and his love for his men.

His love of her.

_He’d want you to be happy…_

_The right partner…_

_The times we’ve had…_

Her hand doesn’t shake when she takes the ring from James Montgomery Falsworth, a.k.a the Union Jack.

"Yes," is all she says as she slips the finger onto the ring finger of her left hand.  

Her brown eyes close as he clasps her hand and presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles.  

He’s a good man, Falsworth.

A man Steve loved.

A man she can love.

**

Their wedding is on the 8th of May in 1945, three weeks after he proposes.

Planes are flying overhead and people cheer in the streets of London, but inside the battered cathedral still standing amongst the rubble of a neighborhood hit hardest by the Luftwaffe, it’s quiet.

"Lord James Montgomery Falsworth, will you take Margaret Carter to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the priest murmurs, his voice echoing despite the chaos taking part outside the heavy wooden doors of his church.  His pale blue eyes sparkle as he looks down upon the four people clustered before him.  He knows this will not be the last of the post-War weddings he will officiant.

It’s a nice change of pace from the many funerals he has had to lead over the past 6 years.  

Falsworth’s eyes never leave hers and his fingers rub soothing circles across her knuckles.  It is something he does well, she’s come to realize over the past few weeks as the War dragged itself to an end.

Soothing.

Comforting.

Making her laugh when all she wants to do is scream.

His gray eyes sparkle and he winks as he says quietly, all stiff decorum in his dress blues and red beret, “I do Father.”  

Her lips curl in a tiny smile as the priest turns to her, saying the words that she never thought she would hear after that damn plane went down.

"And do you, Margaret Carter, take Lord James Montgomery Falsworth as your lawfully wedded husband?"

She stills at that, her heart hammering painfully in her chest and she shifts in her worn leather court heels.  The blue dress-one she borrowed from one of the girls of the Banshee Squad-clings to every single one of her curves but it is better than the red dress buried in her steamer trunk.  

Sweat drips down her back, cool trails rolling over her ribs and spine, and still her heart thunders in her ears.

For the life of her, she can’t say the words.

For the life of her…

She can’t forget Steve.

"I…" she whispers, her voice ragged as tears begin to well in her eyes and a growing desire to scream crawls up her throat.  "I…I can’t."  

The sound of her heels striking the rough granite flagstones of the cathedral mimic the rattle of gunfire but she does not notice.

Gunfire is something she is used to.

Running away is not.

**

SHIELD is so very different from the SSR.  

She reflects on that often, on nights when the office is empty save for the shadows creeping out of the corners towards her office.  Sometimes she wonders if SHIELD is what it should be.

Sometimes she wonders if she and Howard made a mistake, in creating the agency. 

One night she returns to the office to find it empty, something she is grateful for, and she sets her battered leather and brass briefcase gently down on her desk.

It doesn’t wobble.

A frown puckers her brow at that realization and she stills, her fingers pressed into the buckles of her case as she listens closely to the still silence filling the tiny room crammed with desks and bulky equipment bearing the Stark Industries logo.  

A boot heel scuffs behind her and she turns, case flying as she prepares to fight off the intruder standing behind her and she gasps when she catches sight of just who has come to see her.

"Falsworth!" she gasps as he deflects the case with his forearm and chuckles.  "What are you doing here?!" 

His gray eyes sparkle as he straightens, hair a tousled mess and suit as impeccable as ever.  A fedora rests on her desk she notices, the exact shade of blue as his suit, and a Union Jack pin glints in the lapel of his jacket.  

"I’m here on a mission, ducky," he says and all she can do is stare as he takes the case from her and sets it once more upon her desk.  

"Wha-what mission?" she asks, her voice quivering with the butterflies fluttering in her belly.

How many years has it been since she ran from their wedding?  

Ran from this man, out into a Victory Day celebration that felt like anything  _but_  a victory?

Three years?  

Nearly four.  

He perches on her desk-her solid desk that doesn’t wobble anymore-and holds out his hand towards her.  

A ring with a steel grey pearl glints on his palm and his lips curve in a gentle smile as her eyes rise to meet his.

"You, Margaret Carter," he says softly, his voice as loving and comforting as she remembers it.  "You’re my mission, darling girl."  

Her hand doesn’t shake as she takes the ring from him this time.

The desk doesn’t wobble as she leans against it to kiss him.

"Complete it then, Jack," she whispers as his hands rise to clasp her hips and her lips meet his.  

"Roger that, Agent Carter," he whispers back, his eyes sparkling down into hers.  

The ring is still a perfect fit. 


End file.
